


Primal

by Roslyn_Frisson



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: First Times, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-10
Updated: 2013-05-10
Packaged: 2017-12-11 11:02:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/797955
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Roslyn_Frisson/pseuds/Roslyn_Frisson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Something is bothering Jim and Blair wants to help.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Primal

## Primal

#### by Roslyn

Author's website: <http://roslyn_f.livejournal.com>  
  
  
  
This story is a sequel to: 

* * *

Top of Form 

Strong, sharp teeth closed on the back of his neck and Blair finally realized this was not all fun and games. Gathering all his strength, he heaved back against the two hundred pounds of muscle that had carried him down and was now pinning him to the floor. He actually managed to clear about three inches before crashing back down. He tried twisting against the heavy grip on his shoulders. That earned him a hard shake and a low growl emanating from the hot mouth plastered against his nape, the sound and feel of which went straight down his spine to his traitorous dick. 

Gasping, he rested the side of his face against the cool wood of the floor and tried to think. No easy a thing, really, what with one's heretofore-mostly-non-violent roommate gnawing gently on one's spine. One large hand was planted firmly between Blair's shoulder blades, negating anything more effective than squirming as far as an escape attempt, while the other was worming its way up under his T-shirt, causing further shortness of breath as it caressed his ribs and an actual yelp as it brushed against his nipple. 

Okay, this was getting completely out of hand. Blair redoubled his squirming, but Jim only wrapped his legs around Blair's and continued his exploration of as much of Blair's chest as he could reach. Apparently what he could reach wasn't satisfactory enough, because suddenly Blair was hauled up to his knees and hard against Jim, who slipped one arm around Blair in a half-nelson, smoothed Blair's hair back from the side of his face, and began nibbling his ear even as Jim's hand became intimately acquainted with Blair's other nipple. 

Shit! For a moment, Blair simply could not do anything but pant rapidly, but as Jim's questing hand began to trace the line of hair that arrowed below his belt, Blair managed to grab on. He tried to at least arrest the descent of that hand and when plain force seemed to be losing out, he dug his short nails into Jim's wrist and at last managed to cry out, "Jim!" 

Jim froze and Blair felt the shudder that ran through him. Slowly, gradually, Jim relaxed his hold. Weak with relief, Blair nearly fell forward, but Jim kept his arm around him until he could get his hands on the floor for support. Then Jim slowly peeled away, getting shakily to his feet and standing rigidly, head down, his back turned to Blair. 

Blair wasn't sure what he thought might happen next, but he surely never expected Jim to snarl, with acid bitterness, "I don't know what you just did to me, Sandburg, but if you don't want a repeat performance, you'd better get into your room, lock the door and not come out until I'm gone." 

For one moment, Blair gaped in helpless astonishment, then Jim canted his head, just enough to show the feral glitter of his eyes, and Blair was skittering, first on hands and knees, then more swiftly as he gained his feet, toward his room. He ducked inside, then heeled around as Jim's words sank in. 

"Jim! You're not going out, are you? We don't know...eep!" 

Blair managed to get the door shut and latched before Jim flung himself against it, but just barely. Good God, the man was fast! Blair winced as the door shuddered, glass panes rattling in their frames, but he had to persist. 

"Jim, listen to me! You can't leave! We don't know what's going on with you! You might zone! Or worse! Please, Jim, I know we can work this out. Just give me a chance to. . ." 

He was interrupted by an animalistic roar and another shuddering impact on the flimsier-seeming-by-the-moment door. 

"Sandburg! I'm warning you--Shut Up!" 

"But, Jim..." 

Another roar and another full-body slam against the door and Blair shut up. 

He leaned back against the door and listened, trying to track Jim's movements even as he tried to make sense of what had just happened. Long moments stretched as he heard Jim stalking about the loft, snarling what were probably ear-blistering epithets. There was a muffled thump as Jim apparently kicked the armchair. Blair closed his eyes and tried to think, but the moment he did, the sense memory of that hot, hot mouth on his neck, those warm, hard hands skating under his shirt, washed over him and he snapped them open with a jerk and a gasp. 

And the day had started so well... 

* * *

The early morning sunshine had been bright enough to dazzle as it bounced off the myriad tiny prisms left behind by last night's rain. The air had that fresh scrubbed scent that went down easy and the two men stepping out onto the small concrete stoop sucked it in eagerly. A bird warbled nearby; a squirrel chittered, then dashed for the nearest tree. Blair glanced up at Jim and grinned, Jim's answering one the signal to step on out into the day. It was still plenty cool and Blair snugged his jacket a little tighter. He turned back to Jim to make a comment about springtime in Cascade when he saw a shadow pass over Jim's face and the barest of shudders quiver across his shoulders. 

Blair stopped in mid-stride, waiting for Jim to comment, but Jim just stepped past him. Blair stared after him for a moment, then followed him to the truck. Climbing in and clicking his seatbelt, he waited until Jim had done the same, waited until he put the key in the ignition, waited until he was cranking the engine, and then he was out of wait. 

"What was it?" 

"What?" Jim didn't even look at him. Bad sign. 

"What was that back on the step?" 

Now Jim did look. Lips thinned in mild annoyance, he just stared at Blair for a moment. Finally, he said, "On the step?" 

"Yes, on the step!" 

"I don't know what you're talking about, Chief." 

"You were shivering!" 

Now Jim was giving him the I-can't-believe-you-Sandburg stare. 

"I dunno, Chief, maybe...I was cold?" 

"Ha. As if. You don't get cold." Blair settled back into his seat. Maybe he was overreacting. But, as the truck nosed its way onto the street, he resolved to keep an even closer watch on his Sentinel than usual. He just had a weird feeling, slight as the evidence was, there was something going on. 

Fortunately, thanks to spring break, Blair had the whole day to devote to staying at Jim's side. All day, he kept up his vigilance, scrutinizing every reaction. Twice, he thought for sure he had something, but neither incident had the same feel to it. After a day of following up on leads for two separate homicides and one jewel burglary which was looking more and more like it was related to at least one of the homicides, they at last headed for home. 

Tired and relieved to be home at last, Blair nearly missed it. They were almost to the door, he was thinking the evening promised to be damp and chill after the morning's bright sun, he glanced back at Jim as he mounted the step, and there it was. That same slight shadow, a fractional scowl tightening those handsome features. Blair stumbled and Jim grabbed his elbow, setting him aright and pulling him on through the door. 

"Watch your step there, Nureyev." 

Okay, that did it. Blair followed Jim into the elevator. He contained himself all the way up to the third floor, all the way down the corridor, waiting patiently as Jim unlocked the door. They were going to have this out. Maybe Jim thought he wasn't having a problem, but that was exactly what he was there for. Well, that and the dis, but really, that was all part of the deal and Jim was going to have to come clean with this, whatever this was. If Jim thought he could stonewall Blair Sandburg, then he had another think coming. 

The door opened and Blair took five steps into the room before rounding on Jim. 

"Okay, give." 

Jim paused in the act of closing and locking the door, raising one quizzical eyebrow. 

"And don't give me that ?I don't know what you're talking about' look either. Spill." 

For a moment Jim looked almost alarmed. Then he finished locking the door. He squared his shoulders, then slipped off his light jacket, carefully hanging it up before turning back to Blair. Jim looked at him, opened his mouth, then closed it again, spreading his hands helplessly. "It's hard to describe." 

Blair nearly sagged in relief that Jim was giving in so easily. Since the hardcase routine seemed to be working so well, though, he crossed his arms instead and tried to sound stern as he said, "Try." 

Jim sighed, a heavy sound in the quiet room, and went over to the French doors that opened onto the balcony, staring out into what was gathering darkness to Blair. "It's just kind of a tingle, at most," he said. "It happens right as we go out..." 

"Whoa! You mean this isn't the first time this has happened?" 

At least Jim had the grace to look sheepish. "No. It started a couple of days ago. Right as I go out the front door. It's almost," he paused, casting about for an appropriate simile, brightening as one occurred to him. "It's almost like a hand is running down my back, almost like a caress. It's extremely subtle, in fact I barely noticed it at first, but it seems like it's slightly, well, just slightly more every day." 

Blair fought the urge to tear at his hair. Days, this had been going on! Instead of self-mutilation, he settled for stalking about in a tight circle. At least Jim was telling him about it now instead of waiting until whatever it was started spiraling out of control. With no little difficulty, he reined in some of the more fiery comments that sprang to mind and tried to focus on the small amount of data available. 

"Okay. Is it just there at the door, or does it happen any other times?" 

Jim looked thoughtful for moment and Blair knew he was running a comparison check against all of the different sensory stimuli of the day. Blair thought Jim sometimes had a hard time sorting between what was normal for him as opposed to what was normal for other people. 

"No, no, that's it. Just at the door." 

"What about..." 

"No, that was Rhonda's perfume. She switched from Giorgio to some kind of knock-off. A little heavy on the polecat piss, if you ask me." 

"What about lunch at Mr. Tubesteak?" 

"What about it?" 

"You were doing that thing with your mouth." 

"What thing?" 

"That thing you do. Usually it's when you think something has gone off." 

Jim shot him a force two glower, which Blair interpreted as 'I don't do a thing with my mouth', then caved. 

"It was the sauerkraut." 

Blair tried to refrain from commenting, truly he did. "The sauerkraut?" 

"Yeah. I think it was going off." 

"And how exactly does one tell when fermented cabbage is going off?" 

"Listen, smart guy, are you helping me figure this thing out or dissing my culinary choices?" 

"I didn't think the two were mutually exclusive." 

This time it was a force three glower, but Blair had already seen that right eyebrow twitch ever so slightly with amusement. 

"All right, Dr. Science, what do you think is going on?" 

"Well, with the limited empirical evidence at hand, i.e. unfamiliar sensations isolated to one area, but apparently not limited to any particular time of day, I think it might be reasonable to assume that some new element has been introduced to the area recently that is affecting your senses." 

"Ah, gee, Einstein, ya think?" 

"Yeah, Igor, I do." 

"So, what now?" 

"Now?" Blair tapped his chin for a thoughtful second. "Now, we eat." Blair laid out his plan of action. "You shower, I make dinner. Then I shower, then we eat. Then maybe we take a little stroll around the neighborhood, maybe zero in on whatever this thing is." 

"Okay. What are you making?" 

"Something quick. Leftover chili, maybe." Catching Jim making a face, he quickly added, "With fresh cornbread." Ah, that smile would make a little extra work worth the while. He shooed Jim toward the shower and headed into the kitchen, pulling out the things he needed to heat ostrich chili and whip up a fast batch of cornbread. The chili was heating, the cornbread baking and a simple, crisp green salad well on its way to existing when the bathroom door opened to release a cloud of steam and one towel-clad, rosily glowing Jim Ellison. Blair managed to keep from staring, at least until Jim had made it to the stairs and wouldn't catch him. Then, under the guise of setting the table, he indulged, soaking in the sight of bare back, tight ass, good legs, only peeling his gaze away as Jim turned at the top of the stairs. Smiling to himself, Blair shook his head. Ah, well, a guy took what he could. While Jim Ellison might be a pretty tolerant guy in many ways, somehow he doubted that tolerance would extend to having his male roommate, the person privy to his most personal moments, hanging his tongue out after his ass. 

In the beginning, Blair thought he might have had a chance. But he had never really swung that way before and by the time he'd begun to realize what was up and what was making it that way, he'd also realized that there were plenty of reasons to for once not go where his dick was pointing. Jim's propensity for touching hadn't helped matters much, though. Blair had lost count of the times when, during the course of a day together, he would decide that if Jim touched him _there_ one more time, he was going to just grab him and give him a taste of the fire he didn't seem to know he was playing with. And always, just when he would reach such a breaking point, Jim would stop. 

There would be enough of a hiatus, anyway, that Blair would have a chance to recover his inner composure. If Jim hadn't been so blatantly oblivious to the effect he had on his partner, one could almost think he was toying...Blair stopped tearing spinach leaves and slowly raised his head to level a narrow-eyed stare at the freshly attired man coming down the stairs. Jim stopped and looked down at his well-worn jeans and snug black t-shirt. 

"What? Is my fly open?" 

Blair stared a moment longer, cocked his head to one side, then shook it in dismissal. Nah, it couldn't be. Jim came the rest of the way down the stairs, forehead creased in concern. 

"Is something wrong?" 

"No. Nope. Everything is copacetic. Here, you stir the chili and take the cornbread out when the timer dings. I'm going to hit the shower." 

"Don't hit it too hard. I just cleaned it yesterday." 

"Ha ha. Ten thousand comedians out of work and that's the best you can do? I'll be out in five." 

"Just don't skimp on the soap." 

"Are you saying I stink, man? Them's fightin' words, pardner." Blair bounced on his toes and took a few mock jabs at Jim, who obligingly sidestepped, reached out with one long arm and wrapped him in a headlock. Blair closed his eyes and endured the ensuing noogie, allowing himself a one-second wallow in Jimness, savoring his crisp, clean scent, the feel against his cheek of the taut muscles beneath that just-a-little-too-tight T-shirt. Then he jabbed two stiff fingers into the floating ribs pressed against his chin and danced out of reach into the bathroom. 

Reaching relative safety behind the door, Jim's amusement floating behind, he began shucking off his clothes and stuffing them into the hamper, emptying his pockets as he went. As he turned on the spray and adjusted the temperature, he considered the possibility that Jim actually was toying with him. Surely not. That was so not the straight-forward Jim he knew. But what if he didn't know he was doing it? What if all those trailing caresses down his back, the warm touches on his shoulder, what if they were entirely unconscious actions on Jim's part? What if, on some level of that repression happy psyche, Jim really wanted him to lose it, just reach out and take what was being offered? Then, again, they could just be Jim's way of showing affection for a friend. Of course, he hadn't really noticed him touching anyone else that way... 

Warm water spattered down on his head and he went mechanically through the motions of washing his hair as visions of an available, interested Jim danced on the backs of his eyelids. Dumping a copious amount of conditioner into his hand, he worked it into the mass of curls on top of his head and, leaving it to work its magic, tried to turn his attention to his other ablutions. Somehow, though, his still slippery hand had drifted down of its own accord and begun handing out free lap dances, so to speak. And, stage center in the strip show of his mind, one Officer J.J. Ellison, doing the tiny towel tango. 

Of course, it takes two to tango. Eyes tightly closed, Blair watched as one very buff, very imaginary cop danced over, slapped Ms. Rosy Right out of the way and proceeded to show how it was done. This was one fantasy Blair didn't allow himself very often, almost never with Jim only a few yards away, and while he assured himself that the subject of said fantasy most likely couldn't hear him over the shower, or more likely, wouldn't even if he could, there was enough niggling doubt to add an element of danger, a thrilling spice that brought him right up to the edge much faster than usual. 

In fact, the nice dancing policeman was making Blair Jr. very happy, very quickly. An imaginary hard body snugged him up close, blue eyes looked into his, and then those wide mobile lips engulfed him. Blair came, only just keeping the shout that tried to tear from his throat to a muffled grunt. With wobbly knees, he finished washing up, then rinsed the tangles from his hair along with the conditioner. 

If only carnal thoughts about his partner could be so easily washed away. 

Jim was grating cheese for the chili and the cornbread, fresh out of the oven, filled the loft with a savory aroma. Blair hustled to his room, eager for dinner. Self abuse tended to make him hungry. 

Quickly towel-drying his hair, Blair pulled on his favorite pair of well-worn jeans, topped them with a soft flannel shirt over an even softer, white V-neck T-shirt and headed back into the kitchen. Moving head down as he buttoned the flannel, Blair looked up in time to see the broad chest he was barreling into but not in time to stop. He would have bounced off if Jim hadn't caught him. For two or three whole seconds the tableau held and Blair was treated to another up close and personal moment, then he pushed away as if singed. 

"What are you doing?" 

Jim actually looked slightly embarrassed before going on the offensive. "You need to watch where you're going there, Hawkeye. I was just coming to tell you the chow is on." 

"Okay, thanks. Let's eat." Blair pushed past Jim and headed for the dining table. They sat down together and ate their simple meal in relative silence, though Jim did praise the cornbread as he slathered it with butter. Blair shook his head, trying to clear his head of the more prurient uses that butter could be put to. What was the matter with him? He thought he'd made some sort of peace with his attraction to Jim and here he was, every stray thought turning to sex. Okay, that wasn't so unusual in and of itself, but it wasn't just sex he was thinking about, it was Sex With Jim. 

Jim read his headshake as disapproval. He pointed the large square of cornbread at Blair. 

"C'mon, Chief, you wouldn't seriously expect me to eat this dry. That would be like, I dunno, chocolate cake without frosting!" 

Blair swallowed hard. They needed a change of subject. Now. 

But Jim was just warming to his subject. 

"The cornbread is good, now, mind you, really, really good, but it's that gestalt you get with fresh butter that makes it more than just cornbread with butter, makes it more than just a good complement to chili. It makes it become practically the meal and dessert!" 

Blair tried an old Yiddish distraction technique. 

"So, you're saying you don't like my chili?" 

Jim just grinned at him and took a large bite of cornbread. Eyes closed, his face became an illustration of joy, not in the least detracted from by the yellow crumbs at the corners of his mouth. 

God, he was beautiful. 

Blair ducked his head and concentrated on stirring his chili before he got caught mooning like a lovestruck puppy. He took one bite and then another, but tasted nothing. Maybe a change of venue would help. 

"So, Jim, about ready to go hunting?" 

Jim paused, a spoonful of chili halfway to his mouth. 

"Outside?" 

"Unless you somehow think that whatever is bothering you is inside, yes." 

"Well, I would, but the rain is really going to make that tricky, don't you think?" 

"It's not..." 

The patter of drops on the clerestory windows put paid to that argument before it even began and Blair let himself slump a little in defeat. 

"Hey, don't look so down. We'll do it first thing in the morning on the way in. If it's not raining." 

"Well...' Blair hedged. He didn't exactly relish the thought of conducting a search for an unknown substance in the dark and the rain. And whatever it was didn't seem to be bothering Jim all that much, at least for now. "I guess we could watch the Jags game instead..." 

"That's tonight? I thought it was tomorrow!" 

"Starts in fifteen minutes." 

"Great! You go warm up the set and I'll get the beer." 

"Ummm, about the beer..." 

Jim swung around. 

"Yes?" 

"Well, remember that study group I had here last night?" 

Jim's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Ye-es." 

"Well, they were doing so well...y'know, they all _aced_ that test Flederman threw at them...and, well...." 

"You gave a bunch of kids all my beer?" 

"Hey, they were legal! I swear!" 

"Yeah, I'm sure you carded each and every one of them. Okay, fine. House rule: You drink all the beer, you go get more." Jim plopped himself down on the couch with the distinctive air of an immovable object and made little shoo-ing motions. 

"You want me to go out in the rain and get beer?" 

"Not just any beer. The lucky beer." 

"You don't really think that the Jags win because you're drinking Rogue ale." 

"Fine. Then when they lose it'll be your fault." 

"When you put it that way..." 

"I do. Clock's ticking." 

Blair grabbed his jacket and checked the pocket for keys. 

"All right, all right, I'm going. If I'm not back in fifteen minutes..." 

"Don't worry, Chief, I'll start without you." 

Blair sped down the stairs, unwilling to take the time to wait for the elevator. Outside, he pelted down the sidewalk to his car, unlocked the door, threw himself behind the wheel, cranked the engine...and heard the unmistakable _click click click_ of a dead or dying battery. He banged his head softly against the steering wheel. Damn it! He'd just replaced that alternator three months ago. 

Blair considered his options. The nearest store was less than ten minutes away by foot, but didn't carry Rogue. The next one did, he thought, but it would take him fifteen just to get there and he'd have to carry the beer. In the rain. Fine. Jim was just going to have to loan him the truck or go without his precious Rogue. 

Blair banged out of the car and trudged back up the sidewalk. At least the downpour was letting up. Of course, that figured. He'd planned to use that in his plea for the truck. By the time he got back to the door it had practically stopped, with just the occasional errant drop running down his neck. He was just stepping up onto the porch when something in the grass glinted in the glow from the overhead light. Blair paused, then crouched to see better. This was the exact spot where Jim was having his little episodes, for want of a better term. 

Nestled at the feet of several scraggly weeds lay a tiny brass bell. The kind that might be found on a cat's collar. 

Blair started to rise. Well, that couldn't be it, for all that Jim claimed to be allergic to cats...wait a minute, those weeds looked familiar. Blair knelt for a closer look. That was catnip! A girlfriend had grown it for her cats. What an odd thing to be growing by the door. A couple of the plants looked crushed, as if they'd been stepped on or...Blair looked at the bell again...as if they'd been rolled on. Oh, yeah, some kitty'd been having a good time, here. 

Could this be what was affecting Jim? He'd said it was getting a little more every day. The crushing was probably releasing some of that joy juice into the air, but Blair didn't think the stuff affected humans. Could attract cats for blocks, though. Maybe he ought to pull it up before they had a herd of the little guys meowing and rolling at the front door. That would drive Jim nuts! 

Pulling the handful of plants out of the soaked soil was the work of seconds and Blair carried them at arm's length around to the dumpster. He was sure he could feel Mrs. Thompson's tabby watching him reproachfully from a window, but that was just the way it was going to have to be. Kitties shouldn't be wandering around loose in the city anyway, it wasn't safe. 

After dumping the plants, Blair headed back into the building, carefully holding his hands away from his clothes. He might be wrong, but he didn't want to take any chances. He'd probably have to shower again, too. 

Lost in his thoughts, Blair rounded the corner and came up on the step just as Mrs. Parker and her twin tow-headed toddlers came out. The two boys were up in Blair's arms before he could say, "Look out!" 

"Oh, Mr. Sandburg! I'm so sorry! Boys, you get down! You have to ask before you climb people!" 

"Please, call me Blair. And that's quite all right, I was just afraid I was going to get plant juice on them. I just pulled some weeds here by the door." 

"Oh, that's so...civic-minded of you, I'm sure." Mrs. Parker looked as if she couldn't fathom the idea of pulling weeds, certainly not if it wasn't even your job, but then, she was still pretty stunned by the reality of her rough-and-tumble twins as it was. Between the two of them, they managed to peel the boys away from Blair. All the while, Mrs. Parker kept up a rapid-fire patter. 

"We're on our way to their grandparents. You know, I always felt as if Bob's mother didn't really care for me, but ever since the twins have come along, she invites us over constantly. Tonight she's keeping the boys and Bob and I are going out! We've hardly been alone since they were born. I'm so looking forward to a little "adult" time with Bob, if you know what I mean. Oh dear, would you look at the time. Tell Mr. Sandburg good-bye, boys, and we'll be on our way to see Nana." 

With that, she straightened her neat little suit jacket, gripped each boy firmly by the hand and began marching toward the family mini-van parked down the street, the two little boys grinning and waving at Blair over their shoulders. 

Blair fairly swayed in their tailwind, absent-mindedly brushing at his clothing. He seemed to have acquired a fine layer of cracker crumbs, thinking that poor woman needed to find some adults to talk to during the day. For a moment he tried to imagine being married with children of his own, but even as he tried to wrap his head around the concept, a picture-perfect image of Jim popped into his mind and he remembered his mission. 

Again foregoing the elevator in favor of speed, Blair clattered up the stairs. He stuck his head in the door to find the opening anthem of the game playing and Jim still comfortably ensconced on the couch. Jim looked up. 

"Hey, that was fast, Sandburg. You--you don't have any beer." 

"Uh, no. See, there's kind of a problem with the Volvo." 

"What kind of a problem?" 

"A dead battery kind of a problem." 

"So, what's your plan B?" Jim, glancing back at the game, didn't seem overtly concerned with Blair's predicament. 

"The truck?" Blair winced. He hadn't meant to make that sound like a question. 

"The truck?" Oh, now he had his attention. Those laser blues were locked on. 

"You want beer before half-time?" 

"Let me get this straight." Jim stood and began ticking points off on his fingers. "You drink all the beer. You go to get more beer, your car won't start, so now you want to use my truck to go get the beer. " 

"Um, yeah." 

"Okay." Jim rummaged in his pocket for a second and pulled out his key ring. He jingled it at Blair, who reached for it, but at the last second, Jim jerked it up out of reach. Blair, off-balance, had to take a step forward to keep from falling against him. 

"Jim!" 

"Tell you what, Sandburg, I'll wrestle you for em." Jim smiled down at him. 

Blair laughed. "Jim, there's no way I'm going to wrestle you for your keys. If you don't want me to go--Oof!" 

Jim had grabbed him around the waist and in one move, shoved the coffee table out of the way with his foot and dumped Blair on his butt on the floor. Blair stared up at him, a little shaken but unhurt. Jim grinned down at him. 

"Okay, that was too easy. Best two out of three?" 

Blair slowly got his feet under him. While he hadn't been indoctrinated into the rites of roughhousing as a child, Blair had made quite a study of it during his college years. When dealing with a larger opponentand wasn't he always?surprise was an advantage to be utilized. Shaking his head, he spread his hands in a placating gesture. . .and launched himself at Jim's midsection. 

Taken off-guard, Jim went down hard. Blair leaped back before those long, strong arms managed to grapple him. Grinning, he bounced on the balls of his feet, bobbing and weaving. "Okay, one up, Jimmy-boy," he teased. Jim sat up with a little shake of his head and gave Blair an assessing look. And Blair saw blood welling up at Jim's hairline. He must have clipped something on the way down, the edge of the sofa maybe. "Jim! You're bleeding!" 

Jim had regained his feet with slow, deliberate movements, keeping his eyes on Blair. Now he reached up to touch the slight wound. He stared at the redness painting his fingertips, sniffed at it, and for a bizarre moment Blair thought he was going to lick it off, but then he just brushed it against the leg of his jeans and brought the full weight of his gaze back to Blair. 

"Quite the little tiger, there, Sandburg." Jim's tone was oddly silky, almost purring. "Ready for round three?" 

"Jim, no! You're bleeding!" Blair pointed a lecturing finger at him. "Y'know, it's all fun and games until somebody puts an eye out." 

"I said, best two out three." The purr became more of a growl. What was this, some sort of dominance display? Had he somehow threatened Jim's sense of territory by asking to use the truck? 

"Jim, if you want to wrestle, let's take this on down to the gym. They have the space for it. And mats." And maybe witnesses. Blair turned and headed for the bathroom to fetch the well-stocked first aid kit, thinking simultaneously about bleeding head wounds and Supremacy Rituals and Dominance Displays of the Adult American Male, a monograph by Blair Sandburg. 

Which was why the sudden weight on his shoulders forcing him to the floor came as such a surprise. 

He managed to shout "Jim!" as he went down, but that and the sudden contact with the floor forced most of the air from his lungs and the weight on his back made it difficult to recover. What little he had left escaped as he began to laugh at the sheer ridiculousness of the situation. 

That was when the teeth came into play. 

* * *

Blair jerked his hand away from the back of his neck and listened. Nothing. He put his ear to the door. No more muttering or kicking. Had Jim somehow split without him hearing? He reached for the doorknob but his hand had no more than closed around it when that dark voice slithered under the door. 

"Don't even think about it, Sandburg." 

Blair snatched his hand back as if the doorknob itself had spoken. That nervous laugh he could never quite hold in wriggled free. "Jim! I couldn't hear you." 

"Oh, but I can hear you." 

Oh. Dark, velvety, dangerous. . . _predatory_. Blair leaned a little harder on the door as his knees suddenly became overcooked pasta. 

"I can hear you breathing. I can hear your heart beating. I can smell you, too. Did you know that?" Jim paused, and in his mind's eye, Blair saw him close his eyes, tilt his head slightly and take a deep, questing breath. "I can smell your fear. I can smell your excitement. Did you like that? Did you like having me all over you? My hands all over you?" 

Blair swallowed, hard. And then realized that Jim probably heard that, too. The low, mirthless chuckle confirmed it. How was he supposed to deal with this? Especially since a very large part of him wanted nothing more than to open that door and. . .Blair closed his eyes and tried to get at least his breathing under control. He had to get a handle on this for both their sakes. Okay, slow, deep breaths. . .a cold shiver shook him and suddenly he was very sure Jim was standing right on the other side of the door. 

Blair licked dry lips. If Jim really wanted to come through that door, there was very little he could do about it. He cut his eyes over to the outside door, calculating his chances of getting out and away before Jim caught him. He _might_ make it to the car in time, but then again, the car wouldn't start. A phrase from a book he'd read years ago drifted across his panicked thoughtsNever run from anything immortal, it only attracts their attention. Well, Jim wasn't immortal, and he already had his attention, thankyouverymuch. Now how about something _useful_? 

Besides, what would happen if he just opened the doorJim would beat him up? Blair's hand went to the back of his neck. Somehow he didn't think so. So, what then? Jim would try to force him? And then probably tear himself up with guilt. He was obviously under the influence of something. . .oh. Blair looked down through dim light at the green stains on his hands. 

This just couldn't be happening. 

_Catnip_ was making Jim act like this? No way! That just didn't seem possible. . .but then again, sometimes seemingly innocuous things did have bizarre side effects even on regular people. Add in Jim's enhanced senses and you got Jim getting what amounted to an acid trip from cold medicine, blinded by a tiny amount of Golden, virtually sent into a coma by a trace of opium. . . 

Blair started stripping off his clothes. He didn't have any water in his room, but he could put the clothes outside, maybe find enough rainwater on the steps to wash off some of the plant juice. . . 

That voice again, rubbing up against all his best parts. "What are you doing, Sandburg? I can hear you rustling around in there." There was a pause and Blair could just about see Jim tilting his head as he listened. "Don't even think about going out that door." 

"No, Jim. Not going out. I'm just going to open it, let a little fresh air in." Blair flipped the deadbolt on the exterior door. "Jim, I think I've figured out what's going on with you. . ." 

_CRACK!_ The double French doors burst open. Blair dropped his little bundle of clothes and covered his head against the expected shower of glass. After a moment, when deadly shards did not rain down, he lifted his head. Jim had neatly kicked in the doors by planting one size twelve forcefully between the knobs and now stood in the opening, panting, eyes wide and fixed on Blair. Who was wearing nothing but his undershorts. 

Blair raised one hand, fingers spread, international symbol for stop. "Jim, just hold on a second. I think I've just figured out what is going on with you. . ." 

Jim blinked, took a step forward. "Yeah? That why you're standing at the back door in your underwear? 

"Well, actually, yeah! That's what I'm trying to tell you. . ." 

Jim took another step. It wasn't a very big room and it was getting smaller by the second. 

"Jim, listen. When I went outside earlier. There were some plants growing by the door." 

"Plants." Jim responded, but Blair had the distinct impression his words were falling on deaf ears. Which was kind of funny, considering how sensitive those ears could be. Right now, though, it was those blue-laser eyes that were locked on to Blair's bare chest. Jim took another step. 

"Jim! Listen to me! This isn't you. You're having a reaction to some psychotropic plants that were growing by the front step. They've affected your thinking, your physical reactions." 

"Shut the door, Sandburg." 

"I. . .it's not open. Look. . ." Blair reached up and flipped the deadbolt back. "See? All locked up, nice and tight." 

Jim took another step. It really wasn't that big a room. 

Blair was trapped, literally with his back to the door. Which he had just locked. His fight or flight instincts were in overdrive, screaming at him to do something, but there was nowhere to run and he really didn't want to fight Jim. Shake him, maybe, but hurt him, no. And he couldn't believe that Jim meant to hurt him, either, even if he was putting on a pretty good Large-and-Threatening display. 

Blair stared up into Jim's face, trying to read something there that would tell him what to do, how to get through to him. Jim didn't look angry. He looked. . .intent. Like he had an extremely interesting puzzle in front of him. Or really, more like he had large selection of donuts in front of him and he was trying to decide which ones were buttermilk. That thought fit Jim's expression so well that Blair had to smile. 

Jim blinked, for what seemed like the first time since his precipitous entry, and pulled back the least little fraction. "Something funny, Sandburg?" 

Blair swallowed. That throaty growl did things to the backs of his knees, made them want to unlock, lower him to the floor. . .Blair leaned his head back against the door and gazed up at Jim through lowered lashes. 

"Yeah. You. This. What are you doing, Jim?" 

Jim blinked again and actually swayed back. "I'm--I'm--I'm keeping you from leaving." He stared past Blair's left shoulder for a moment, then gave a tiny sharp nod, as if satisfied with that answer. 

"Think, Jim. Where would I be going dressed like this?" Blair hoped that if he could just get Jim's brain back online, somehow override this primal state he seemed locked into, maybe he could talk him down, get him to back off long enough to get the tainted clothes out of the loft and himself cleaned up. . . . 

"Exactly nowhere." Jim growled. The hair on the back of Blair's neck stood at attention and rows of goosebumps crawled up and down his arms. His thoughts scattered like startled birds and it took another second or two to get himself back on track. He took a deep breath and tried again. 

"Exactly, Jim. I'm not trying to leave. I was just trying to get these clothes..." He poked the small bundle with his toe. "...out of here." 

Jim glanced down at the bundle but his gaze came right back to Blair's face like a needle to north. "You want to put your clothes outside." He blinked, shook his head, blinked again. "Why?" 

"That's what I'm trying to tell you, Jim. There were some plants growing by the step out front. I pulled them up and threw them away, but I got some of the juice on me. Look, let me just set them outside. You can even hold onto me if it makes you feel better. I'm not trying to leave!" 

"Hold on to you." Jim just kept looking at him, but then he smiled. The bloody streak down the side of his face and the glassy sheen of that fixed stare detracted somewhat from the comfort value, but Blair still had a moment of hope that he was getting through. Then Jim's hands came up and clamped around Blair's bare shoulders. "Yes," he said, "I think that would make me feel better." His grip tightened and he lowered his head toward Blair. 

Blair had only the splittest of seconds to formulate a plan before Jim's lips came down on his. And he had, too. Too bad it popped like a penny balloon as soon as those lips made contact with his own. He didn't know how long they stayed like that. All he knew, when Jim finally pulled back for a moment, was that his arms were tightly locked around Jim's back and _somebody_ had been moaning very enthusiastically. 

A couple of deep breaths later and he realized the moaning had been coming from Jim. Jim, who was currently pinning Blair to the door with his body and nuzzling the side of his neck. It took a couple of triesBlair couldn't seem to remember how anything workedbut he unlocked his arms and snaked them up between their bodies, trying to push Jim back a little with one hand and get Jim to stop licking a stripe down his neck with the other. Though he was swiftly losing his grip on just why he was trying to get Jim to stop. 

Jim grabbed Blair's wrist and nuzzled his face into the palm. 

"Jim," Blair managed to squeeze out. He dragged in a breath and tried again. "Jim, you've got to stop this. This isn't you. . .mmph." Jim cut him off by the simple method of placing his hand over Blair's mouth. Then he simply continued his up-close-and-personal inspection of Blair's hand. 

At first he seemed content to simply rub his face against the palm, nuzzling nose first, nestling each cheekbone in turn firmly into the curve, then caressing with the long line of his jaw all the way down to his chin and back up the other side. Blair could only watch from the corner of his eye and then he had to close his eyes and concentrate on breathing as Jim set his teeth against the heel of Blair's palm, catching the fleshy part under his thumb and worrying it gently. 

All of Blair's bones turned into taffy, then dissolved completely when a warm, wet tongue took a broad swipe across his palm. He squeezed his eyes open to see Jim, his own eyes closed in ecstatic bliss, licking his hand. Oh, God. The plant juice was all over his hands! He tried to squirm free, tried to push away, but Jim just casually leaned a little harder against him and pressed a muscular thigh firmly against the inside of Blair's hip. All the air carefully gathered for yelling went out off Blair in a helpless, whooshing moan. 

Jim answered him with happy little mmm's, took a long lick up Blair's index finger and sucked it into his mouth. He seemed to like this so much, he went back for the next one. He worked his tongue along the seam made by the two fingers and wriggled the point into the spot where they joined. 

Blair knew his hair must be standing on end. That's what happened when you got an electric shock. He made a last ditch effort to get away, scrabbling and pushing with the arm trapped between them and arching his body forward, but all he managed was to slide his hand over Jim's hard nipple and rub himself against Jim's leg. This time they both moaned. 

And when Blair's lips parted in that moan, his tongue caressed Jim's hand. 

Jim jerked like he'd been hit with a taser but he didn't let go of Blair. Instead, he pulled Bair's fingers free of his mouth with a loud pop and brought the full force of his gaze back to Blair's wide-eyed face. When he lifted his hand from Blair's mouth, Blair was ready. 

"Jim! I'm sorry, man. I didn't mean to. But you gotta listen to me. This stuff is affecting you. We've got to get it washed off of us before mmmmphh!!!" 

Jim sealed off his words with a wet, deep kiss. He dove in so deep Blair thought he was going to come out the other side and turn Blair inside out in the process. Blair had just enough operating brain cells left to raise a white flag of surrender and to note that Jim was humping him against the door, and then his world was only heat, moisture and friction. 

Hot, wet heat, sliding, sucking moisture and fabulous, fast _furious_ friction. 

For one long moment, he was on a ride that would put anything at Disney to shame. Then there was a sort of white-out effect and, with a shudder, everything stopped. Whoops, ride over, everybody off. 

Blair wondered how long the line was for another go. 

Until a very small, very stricken voice said, "Blair?" 

And Blair remembered how eyelids worked and looked up to see a pale Jim raise his head and stumble back half a step. And wobble. 

Blair grabbed him by the shoulders and steered him two steps backward to the bed. Jim sat down heavily and looked at Blair with stunned eyes. "What. . .? I just. . .I didn't. . ." 

"Shhh, Jim. It's okay. Just rest a minute. Everything's going to be all right." 

Jim looked up at him. "I don't. . .I feel funny." 

"Yeah. It's that plant stuff. Just sit tight. I'm going to get it off of us." 

Blair turned but Jim caught his arm. "Blair, I didn'tAre you okay?" 

Blair gave his hand a reassuring pat then firmly set it back on his lap. "I'm fine. I'm just going to go get some soap and water. You should probably take that shirt off, okay?" 

Jim nodded and moved to obey, and Blair sprinted for the bathroom. He wet two or three washcloths, grabbed the soap and made it back to his room in very short order. He was sure it couldn't have been two minutes even at the outside, but Jim was already gone. As in dead to the world. He had managed to get the T-shirt offit still dangled over one wristbut Jim lay pitched over like someone had flipped off his switch. 

That happy little thought freaked Blair into checking Jim's vitals, but even as he reached for the pulse points on Jim's neck, he could see that great chest rising and falling. He let himself feel Jim's pulse anyway. It seemed steady and strong, and water dripping on his foot reminded Blair of his mission. He had washed his own hands thoroughly in the bathroom and now he set to work trying to remove all trace of the plants from Jim's. 

Working carefully, Blair washed Jim's hands and his arms all the way up to his elbows. Then he switched to a fresh cloth and washed Jim's face and neck. It was a relief to get rid of that awful bloody stripe and the scalp wound was really quite small and had clotted nicely. 

Jim didn't stir at all during the ablutions, even though Blair was trying to be as thorough as possible, and Blair worried. He just didn't know what effect the stuff could be having on Jim. The barest trace of opium on Lila's knife had nearly put Jim in a coma. It wasn't like he could call up a doctor and ask, either. 

Finally satisfied that Jim was as clear of contaminants as Blair could get him, Blair scooped clothes and washcloths into a plastic bag, double-bagged that, eased the back door open and pitched the whole thing toward the dumpster. He had more jeans. 

He only had the one Jim.  
Blair closed the door and looked over at the still form slumped across his futon. Asleep, Jim didn't seem quite so large. Blair had always thought that a great deal of Jim's perceived size came from his large-and-in-charge attitude. Not that he wasn't plenty big enough. But when he brought the full intensity of his attention on you. . . 

Blair looked down at his hands. Better wash them again, he thought. In fact, probably better shower. But he needed to keep an eye on Jim, in case he started having some kind of reaction. Okay, some other kind of reaction. He went a little closer, peering down at Jim's quiet face. Well, he did seem to be breathing okay. Blair didn't want to touch him anymore until he'd at least washed his hands again. He dithered a moment more, than decided a very fast shower would be safe. 

He scurried to the bathroom and turned on the shower, letting the water warm as he stripped off his shorts. A slow, warm flush spread through him as he noticed the dampness on the front, but he didn't let it slow him down. Instead he took the fastest shower of his life. He even skipped conditioner, though he knew he'd pay for it later. He rinsed, wrapped a towel around his middle, another around his hair and skedaddled back to Jim. 

Jim lay exactly as Blair had left him, head and shoulders on the pillow, long legs draped over the side. Blair put his hand on Jim's throat, checking his pulse, which was reassuringly strong and steady. His breathing was also strong and steady, no sign of any allergic tightness, no hitch to the slow, deep ins and outs. 

Blair felt a little better. 

A little. 

Blair crouched down, slid his arm behind Jim's knees and lifted his legs up onto the bed. Jim settled onto his back, one arm draped across his eyes and mumbled something incoherent that sounded vaguely like "But I don't wanna go to school." Blair took that as a good sign, also, that he was just asleep and not unconscious. 

Blair stepped back and just watched Jim sleeping for a moment. Jim didn't seem to be suffering any more ill-effects from the catnip, but how could he be sure? Blair wracked his brain for any fragments of information that might be squirreled away in there. He knew the stuff was used in tea, so it wasn't usually bad for humans. It made cats act silly. And then. . .didn't they usually sleep it off? He remembered Jenny's cats going bonkers over the stuff, but he didn't have a clear memory of afterwards, probably because watching the kitties play tended to make Jenny pretty playful and kittenish herself and they usually ended up in her bedroom in short order. 

Blair bit his lip. He just wasn't sure what he should do for Jim. Should he try to wake him or just let him sleep it off? Blair looked some more. Maybe he should loosen his clothing. Those jeans looked awfully tight. . . 

Blair slipped his fingers under Jim's waistband and unhooked the top button of Jim's jeans, catching his breath as his fingertips skated across the incredibly fine skin hidden behind the denim. One button didn't seem to be enough, so he undid the next and the next and Dear Sweet Lady Of Undershorts, Jim wasn't wearing any! 

Blair jerked his hands away, straightening up so fast he was dizzy. What was up with that? Jim _always_ wore shorts. Once, when they'd had an especially busy several days and the laundry had been neglected a little too long, Jim had resorted to wearing his gym shorts instead of going commando. And Blair just happened to know that, since they'd just done laundry, Jim had piles of fresh boxers to choose from, especially since he'd stocked up since the gym shorts incident. 

Blair shot a quick look at Jim's face, as if he'd find some hint there, but Jim just kept on sleeping, as peacefully as if he hadn't just humped his best friend up against a door. What if there was something else going on here, something else besides the catnip? What if. . .Blair took a deep breath. One thing at a time. 

Maybe Jim should drink something, take something. . .there was no one he could call and ask about catnip poisoning. . .maybe the internet. . . 

Blair slid his trusty laptop out of the battered backpack in the corner and sank down on the floor next to the bed, thanking the gods (and Jim) for the handy dandy nifty new wireless connection. He googled "catnip" and hit paydirt with the very first link. The active chemical in Catnip, or Nepeta cataria, was Nepetalactone, with a structure similar to valerian. It made catssome cats, not all catscrazy-aggressive-sexed-up for a few minutes, then it didn't affect them for at least an hour or so. But, humans, it just made sleepy. 

Blair searched several more links, trying to find something about an antidote or treatment, but there was nothing. Just lots of little tidbits about how cute the kitties were when they were blissing out on kitty-crack. Apparently nobody had ever OD'd on catnip before. Okay, he guessed they could just wait it out. Jim seemed all right now, anyway. So far. 

Blair closed the laptop and slid it to safety under the bed. He pulled the towel away from his mostly dry hair, tossed it in the pile of dirty clothes in the corner and let his head lean back against the bed. His arms dropped to his sides as, now that he'd done all that he could think to do, sudden exhaustion washed over him. It had been a long, eventful day. 

A shiver snaked through him and a tiny portion of his brain remarked at how it was kind of chilly to be sitting on a bare wood floor in just a damp towel. He thought, yeah, he'd get up and get something to pull on. In just a minute, he would. He'd get up, put something on, go make some tea or coffee, yeah, that sounded good. Coffee or tea. Tea or coffee. Hot chocolate, maybe even. Yeah. In just a minute. . . . Blair wanted some hot tea. Or maybe it was hot chocolate? But first he had to sort through these giant piles of tea boxes. They were everywhere, heaps of brightly colored pasteboard packages that seemed to shift and skitter out of his reach. He had to find the one with the catnip in it and get rid of it, because it was Bad for Jim. Frustration mounting, he lunged for Orange Zinger, Morning Thunder, Blackberry Sage, Ginger Peach, only to have them slip through his grasp. His fingers finally closed on a box of Bengal Spice but it was slippery and squirmy and he kept fumbling the lid until the tiger growled at him. He nearly dropped the box then, but this could be the one with Jim inside, so he hung on, kept trying until, with a parting snarl from the tiger, the box opened and Blair crawled into a blue jungle. 

It was dim and shadowy in the jungle. He was in a small clearing, a cacophony of birds wheeling and screeching, apparently annoyed at his sudden appearance. Blair stood quietly, letting his eyes adjust while the birds settled, scanning the dense foliage for somethinga bent twig, a twisted frond, a trail of bread crumbsthat might clue him in to Jim's whereabouts. 

He felt the prickling of his neck hairs first, then, in the sudden silence of the birds, he heard it, rising slowly from the lower registers: a rumbling that rattled up his ribcage and caught his breath in his throat. 

Slowly he turned, somehow unsurprised but still shaken to see an immense black panther studying him from a few paces away. 

Blair stared at the huge animal. The great tawny eyes met his for a long frozen moment. 

Then the creature simply turned and stalked away. 

Instead of relief, Blair felt sudden, startling abandonment. He hurried to follow, ducking past branches and vines that threatened to hold him back as the great cat's sinuous shadow slipped farther into the jungle's murk. Stumbling, Blair pressed on, deeper into the darkness, tripping over roots, pushing through the heavy, humid air that burned in his lungs with each gasping breath. With each effortful step, though, the air grew thicker, colder. And the harder he pushed, the farther he fell behind, until he was once again alone in blue shadows. 

At last he had to stop and he leaned against a tree, wrapping his arms tightly around his shivering self. Just for a minute, he told himself. He'd rest for a minute and then he'd push on. He was going to find Jim. Jim had to be here somewhere, he just knew it. He would just catch his breath. . .but even as he paused, the shadows grew darker, colder, closer. A vine snaked around his wrist and Blair cried out, "Jim! Help! Jim!" Another vine wrapped around him and started shaking him. Blair tried to call out again, but all that came out was a long mournful howl. 

Which startled him so much he opened his eyes to find himself face to face with a very concerned-looking Jim. Overjoyed, Blair grabbed Jim by the shoulders. "Jim! I found you! I was starting to get worried, man!" 

"Sandburg, I don't know why you're sleeping on the floor wearing only a damp towel, and I probably don't want to know. Get your ass up into that bed and cover up before you get pneumonia!" 

The dream was already starting to fade and Blairs teeth were actually starting to chatter, so when Jim gripped him by the elbows and hauled him to his feet, Blair didn't resist. He tried to help even, but his legs were so cold and stiff they weren't really responding properly and ended up tangling with Jim's. One second he was on the floor, the next he was smashed against Jim's chest and the one after that they both came crashing down on the bed in a wild tangle of limbs and wet towels. 

"Goddamn it, Blair!" 

Blair didn't say anything on account of, once again, no longer having enough air in his lungs. But, hey, the bed was warm, Jim's weight felt really good on top of him, why let a little thing like lack of oxygen be a problem? 

"Jesus, Sandburg, you haven't got a stitch on, do you?" Jim pushed his upper body off of Blair, which pushed his lower body against Blair's in an altogether too interesting way. Blair knew his eyes were suddenly very big and very round. 

Much like other parts of his body which were very inconveniently waking up. 

But, as he gulped air, trying to come up some kind of plausible deniability, Jim's own eyes grew wide in horror and he scrambled back. 

"Oh, Blair, Jesus. I'm so sorry. I'm not. . .I didn't mean. . .did I hurt you?" 

"What? Um, no, I'm fine, just couldn't, y'know, _breathe_ there for a moment, but. . .Jim!" 

Because Jim had gone very pale and he looked very like he was going to be sick. 

"Did I choke you? I didn't think I. . .ohmigod, I did hurt you!" 

"Jim! Jim, I'm fine! Just knocked the wind out of me a little when we fell, that's all." 

"Just now? So, last earlier. . .I didn't. . .oh, thank god." 

Blair's brain finally caught up to the rest of the room. "Oh. Earlier." Blair knew he was blushing. He'd just never really realized that it happened all over before. Jim was looking at him so intently, as if he could X-ray Blair with his Sentinel vision if he just tried hard enough. "How-," Blair swallowed hard and tried again. "How much do you remember?" 

"How much. . . ." Now Jim looked down at the floor, as if hoping he could burn a hole through it and disappear. "All of it, I think. If I didn't. . . ." 

"Jim, you didn't hurt me." 

That brought his head up. "How can you say that, Sandburg? I practically ra. . . I _forced_ myself on you!" 

Blair raised himself up on his elbows, took a deep breath, leveled the calmest gaze he had at Jim and said, quietly, "You can't rape the willing." For just a moment, Jim looked as stunned as if Blair had just struck him with a wet fish. Then his brows drew down in anger. 

"Do you even know what you're saying, Sandburg? 

"Yes, _Ellison_ , I know exactly what I'm saying." 

Jim didn't seem to know what to do with his hands, or really, his whole self. First he balled his fists at his sides, then he turned as if to walk away. He turned back and put his hands on his hips. He opened his mouth and then shut it. He stretched one hand out toward Blair, then pulled it back. He paced two steps to the left, then two steps to the right. Finally he stopped, faced Blair and crossed his arms firmly across his chest. 

"Sandburg. _Blair_. You can't just say something like that." 

Blair thought about that for a second. 

"Why not?" 

Jim stared at him, open-mouthed. Clearly, he hadn't been prepared for that snappy of a come back. 

"Because. . .because. . .because you just _can't_. That's why." 

"Oh, that makes lots of sense." Blair moved to get up, but Jim threw up both hands in a Stop-Right-There motion. 

"What?" 

"You just stay over there. Andand cover up, why don't you?" 

Blair glanced down. The towel he'd wrapped around himself so hurriedly was no longer wrapped around him in any sense of the word. It was also cold and damp, so he reached down and twitched it away. He tried to pull the blanket over himself, then realized he was lying on top of the covers. He was stymied for just a moment, then he reached back, stretching to grab a corner of the top blanket to fold over. His fingers had just closed on the blanket's edge when a strangled noise from across the room made him look back. 

"Jim?" 

Jim had his head turned, his eyes closed, a look of almost-pain on his face. 

"Sandburg," came the strangled reply, "Just, cover up, would ya?" 

Blair still had the cover's edge between his fingers. As he dragged it back over himself, bafflement gave way to understanding. He looked at Jim with wide eyes. "Y-you--" 

"See, that's why you can't go around saying stuff like that. Especially not lying there, looking like. . .like sex on a stick." 

For a moment, Blair thought that maybe his face had broken. Then he realized he was grinning the biggest Jack-O-Lantern grin in the history of his face. He was grinning so big it _hurt_ , but damned if he could stop it. 

"You think I look like sex on a stick?" 

"All right, just calm down. And stop looking at me like that!" 

"Like what?" 

"Like a deranged Goldie Hawn. You're starting to scare me." 

"Goldie Hawn?!" 

"Oh, God, here it comes."  
"I'm just trying to understand how Goldie Hawn, in whatever state of mind she might be in, could be an appropriate comparison to yours truly." 

Jim was smiling. Just a little, but that had to be a good sign. 

"I dunno, Sandburg. You're both kind of. . .bubbly." 

Blair rolled his eyes. "Bubbly." 

"Yeah. Like champagne." 

Blair stilled. He hadn't heard that right, had he? Jim hadn't just compared him, Blair Sandburg, to champagne? Okay, him and Goldie Hawn, sure, but, but. . .what did that _mean_? 

"Sandburg, you're thinking too hard." 

Blair refocused his eyes on Jim. 

Jim was just standing there, his half-open jeans threatening to slide off his narrow hips, with the most open look on his face Blair had ever seen. 

"Jim, you. . . ." 

"Yeah." 

Blair sucked in a breath. He was too warm. Suddenly much too warm. Heat prickled all along his skin and his scalp tried to lift right off the top of his head. Looking away, Blair picked absently at the covers and, with as casual a tone as he could muster, said, "So, umm. . ." he glanced back up at Jim with a grin that felt so devilish that he was almost surprised he hadn't sprout horns and a tail to go with it, ". . .wanna make out?" 

Now it was Jim's turn to draw a startled breath. He narrowed his eyes at Blair in that way that never failed to send an illicit shiver down Blair's spinal cord, then, slowly, very slowly, stalked the three steps to the edge of the bed. Reaching down toward Blair's upturned face, he ran his thumb across Blair's lower lip. 

"Y'know, Sandburg, that mouth of yours is going to get you into so much trouble one of these days." 

"Y'know, I'm actually kind of counting on that," Blair answered, right before nipping lightly at the fleshy pad. He watched with growing delight as Jim shivered and closed his eyes for a moment. Reaching up, Blair relinquished custody of Jim's thumb and drew Jim closer. 

Jim put his other hand against the center of Blair's chest. "Blair, are you sure you know what you're getting into here?" 

Blair mirrored Jim and placed his free hand against Jim's chest. "I know you think it's a scary place in there, Jim, but I've seen it and I'm not scared. Well, that's not true. I'm terrified." Jim stiffened and tried to draw back, but Blair hung on tight. "But not of you, Jim. Just that I'm going to screw this up somehow, when it's everything I've ever wanted. _You_ are everything I've ever wanted." 

Jim shivered and Blair knew he'd scored a hit. Time for the big guns. "I love you, Jim. Not just as a friend, not just as a loverI love _you_. I've seen you at your best and at your worst and I want the whole package." 

"Jeez, Sandburg, are you proposing?" Jim still resisted, but Blair was unrelenting. 

"Yeah, I guess I am. And if you're not ready for that step, maybe we could just. . ." And Blair jerked hard with one hand, pushing just as hard with the other, and tumbled Jim down on to the bed with him. "Maybe we could just fool around a little?" 

Jim landed with a startled "oof", but didn't try to regain his feet. Instead, he again put one hand against Blair's chest, effectively holding him off, and pressed the other against his own in a parody of dismay. With just a touch of falsetto, he quavered, "Why, Mr. Sandburg! What kind of girl do you think I am?" He even batted his eyes. 

Blair knew the grin covering his face did look more than a little crazed, but he didn't even try to tone it down. Why hurt yourself for nothing? Instead, he slipped one hand down the front of Jim's conveniently-opened jeans and said, "Why, Mr. Ellison, I don't think you're any kind of girl at all." 

Jim stilled, swallowed, and then, in a throaty growl that had all of Blair's hair standing on quivering end, said, "Glad we got that straight" and rolled them over. 

* * *

End 

Primal by Roslyn: roslyn@vickita.org  
Author and story notes above.

Disclaimer: _The Sentinel_ is owned etc. by Pet Fly, Inc. These pages and the stories on them are not meant to infringe on, nor are they endorsed by, Pet Fly, Inc. and Paramount. 


End file.
